


Gala at the Gallery

by LadyBinx



Category: Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-18
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 07:42:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5240198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman visits a gala and meets a certain tall British actor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gala at the Gallery

I had attended many opening nights at galleries before but I had never attended a gallery night with quite this prestige. It was a red carpet fundraising event for the arts council, hundreds of wealthy collectors, celebrities and government patrons of the arts had been invited. I was none of the elite that normally attended these events. I had only managed to get invited because I once introduced a friend to a reclusive artist’s work.

I didn’t want to be placed in a corner amongst such illustrious company so I had asked a friend to produce a costume that ensured I would stand out. When I described my fears about evening she said she knew exactly what to do and I trusted her to do it.

When it arrived I knew I had done the right thing. I started putting the corset on, carefully, to avoid the spikes on the shoulders, hips and collars. The long, simple, straight, white skirt alluded to femininity without taking away from the military aspect of the corset. The pale gold contrasted with my dark hair, the corset leant more shape to my already sleek curves; I was ready to conquer the world.

As I walked the red carpet the sudden flash of camera lights almost blinded me. Reporters and photographers questioned who I was, whilst also trying to suggest that they already knew. It was almost laughable. I hadn’t expected quite this level of excitement. I paused, only for a moment, simply smiling at them. I wouldn’t give in to their answers, they didn’t need them, and they would never see me again. I became bored of that game quickly and continued my way inside; maybe I would do some celeb spotting of my own, but I was more interested in the art.

As I was making my around the gallery I stopped in front of a piece by the reclusive artist I had introduced to my curator friend. The close-up image of body parts bound in rope seemed to take on different meaning when there were many in gallery. As I stood considering it, I sensed a presence beside me. I looked at him from the side. I had a feeling he was familiar, his tall, broad frame filling out his tuxedo well.

“You belong in a gallery with an outfit as magnificent as that,” he said quietly beside me, never taking his eyes off the piece in front of him. I couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at the line.

“With an outfit as original as this, do you really think tired clichés are going to win me over?” Smiling sweetly I kept an edge to my voice as I challenged the tall gentleman.

“Very well,” He begins to drop his moss eyes over the front of the dress and I twirled around slowly to allow him a second attempt at flirting with me. “You have embodied Britannia herself leading the empire into battle. No man could resist following you to their death in defence of their country.” Giving him an impressed nod he continued. “You wouldn’t carry a weapon into battle, as a goddess you are above that. You bring men to their knees with only a look and a whispered word. A true English rose, thorns included.’”

I glanced around us into the crowd enjoying their champagne.

“I guess you should tell the curator then, although it would be awfully embarrassing to be asked to strip in the middle of gallery…’ I let the sentence drop off into the decreasing distance between us, the silence allowing the image to seep into his imagination as I watched his reaction. His crystal blue eyes seemed to darken as he considered his reply.

“Yes. I can see how that would be less than ideal… for you.” He didn’t try to hide the look lust that flashed across his face. “I suppose it could stay in your private collection, if you would allow me to view it occasionally.”

He swiped two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed me one. Our conversation continued for the rest of the evening, never quite reaching the same intensity it had earlier. As we chatted amongst the priceless masterpieces our small talk seem to before than your normal idle chatter. Perhaps it was the surroundings, ensuring we kept our wits about us, each trying to outdo the other in audacious pretensions.

As the gallery started to clear out and the champagne had stopped magically appearing, our topics of conversation began to be replaced by silences.

“I think,” I began, feeling the bubbles of champagne tickle my fuzzy mind, “that we may be politely asked to leave soon.” As we wandered outside into the quiet summer midnight, he placed his hand on the small of my back, the first physical contact either of us had initiated.

“Would you join me for a nightcap?” He asked shyly. I had to decline. “Would you let my driver drop you off at home?” Again I declined preferring to take a taxi. “Can I see you again?” he almost pleaded with me.

“You don’t even know my name.” I teased him. His face fell, only just realised neither of us had introduced or questions who the other was. The conversation had flowed so naturally it was forgotten.

“Oh god! I’m so rude, I’m –“ he started to blurt out.

“I know who you are. In fact, I believe most of the world knows who are, Tom, and it’s a better place for it.” I smiled at him as I opened the door to the taxi, “And you can call me Cinderella.”

As the taxi pulled away I looked back at him. His face was a mixture of fascination and confusion. I was glad he enjoyed my artwork hanging in the gallery. I never enjoyed fame but I always wanted to know what my audience thought. The easiest way was to be an anonymous patron.


End file.
